


our cross to bear

by red-russian (winter_hawk)



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, I'm having major feels over a minor character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 15:30:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3386891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_hawk/pseuds/red-russian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peggy Carter and Jack Thompson deliver the news of Chief Dooley's death to his wife, Loretta.</p>
            </blockquote>





	our cross to bear

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hotlikesriracha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotlikesriracha/gifts).



Loretta Dooley has prepared herself for this moment a thousand times, it seems; when Roger was overseas, she would sit up in bed at all hours of the night, certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that she had heard the telltale knock at the door, someone coming to deliver a folded flag and a half-sincere word of comfort.  
  
And yet nothing quite compares to the staggering rush that flows through her the moment she opens the door to Jack Thompson, wearing an expression of sympathy. Behind him stands a woman, clasping a flat wooden box in her hands.  
  
“Loretta, I’m so sorry.” The pity in Thompson’s voice is unbearable.  
  
“Jack,” she says, her voice sounds distant to her own ears. She opens her mouth without really knowing what else to say; what comes out is: “Why don’t you come in? I’ve just put the kettle on. And do introduce me to your friend.”  
  
“Peggy Carter,” says the woman, evidently pretending that the tension in the air between them isn’t absolutely stifling.  
  
“Please, sit,” Loretta says, as they follow her into the kitchen. “I’ll just be a moment. Miss Carter, how do you take your tea?”  
  
“Black, thank you,” Peggy says, and grabs Thompson’s elbow before he can reach out to clasp Loretta on the shoulder, a gesture for which she finds herself incredibly grateful.  
  
She drops each teabag precisely into the center of the cup, pours out an exact measure of water, and sets each scalding cup down carefully on a saucer. Thompson wrings his hands while Carter watches, impassive.  
  
The wooden box sits on the kitchen table, rather small and unassuming. Loretta looks at it when she speaks. “I suppose this is about Roger, then.”  
  
“Loretta,” Thompson says again, and her final taut thread of composure abruptly and violently snaps.  
  
“He’s dead, isn’t he?” The words are acerbic on her tongue.  
  
Thompson looks rather shocked. Carter, on the other hand, simply regards her coolly before reaching out and opening the lid of the box.  
  
“Yes, Mrs. Dooley. On the behalf of the United States Government, we are here to offer you our sincere condolences.”  
  
Loretta’s face is flushed, warm and bright, and there is a pervasive hum in her ears, as if the tea kettle were still whistling on the stove behind her. She stares down into the box, at the star-shaped medal nestled inside, a blue ribbon threaded through the top. She can hear them talking, something about courage and sacrifice.  
  
“He said he was coming home for dinner,” she says softly.  
  
“He gave his life– what?” Thompson falters.  
  
“He called today,” she says. Her palms are wrapped around her teacup; distantly, she feels the burn, and on some level, she relishes it. Anything to keep her grounded. “He wanted to come home.”  
  
Slowly, Carter reaches out and places a gentle hand atop Loretta’s. “He wanted you to know that he was sorry,” she says, and Loretta can hear a slight hitch in her voice.  
  
“What do I do now?” she asks, directing the question at the agents, at the box – perhaps at no one in general.  
  
Neither of the agents have a chance to answer the question; the front door slams and Loretta’s children come running into the kitchen.  
  
“Daddy!” shouts her daughter, skidding to a stop when she realizes the two people at the table with her mother are strangers. Loretta presses a shaking hand to the back of her mouth just as her son leans in the doorway, shy and suspicious.  
  
“Mama, when will Dad get here? I want to show him my new art project!”

  
Something in Loretta’s chest seizes, sharp and brutal, more painful than she could’ve imagined on any of those sleepless nights. “Daddy isn’t coming.”  
  
Both children look crestfallen. “But he promised,” her son says, voice barely above a whisper.  
  
“Hey champ,” says Thompson, awkward and too loud in the hush that has fallen in the kitchen. “Why don’t you show me your project? Let’s take your sister too.”  
  
After a moment of hesitation, the children both trudge out of the kitchen with Thompson. Loretta’s chest feels as if it’s on fire.  
  
“Mrs. Dooley, might I get you some water?” Miss Carter’s voice pierces the buzz in Loretta’s ears.  
  
“Please,” she says, and a moment later Peggy presses a cool glass into her hand.  
  
“I know there isn’t anything I can say to help you right now,” Peggy says.  
  
“No,” Loretta replies. She shakes her head. “There really isn’t, Miss Carter.”  
  
Peggy takes a breath and continues. “I can’t imagine how you’re feeling. I can tell you that I lost someone I loved, once – but every loss is different. No two aches are ever quite identical.”  
  
Loretta is aware that Peggy’s hand is resting again, warm and reassuring, on top of her own.  
  
“How do you live with it?” Loretta asks. With her free hand she reaches out and picks up the medal; the blue ribbon spills through her fingers, a soft river of silk.  
  
“For a while, you don’t live. You merely survive.”

  
Loretta takes a deep, steadying breath, and Peggy’s thumb strokes her wrist once. “Mrs. Dooley, I can’t imagine the pain you’re feeling. I can only say that I knew your husband rather well. He was a good man – I dare say a great man. He saved us all. And in his final moment, his last thought was of you.”  
  
“He was coming home,” Loretta says, and before she can stop it, a sob tears through her, shaking her body to the core.  
  
“I know,” says Peggy, her hand a comforting presence as Loretta digs her fingertips into the corners of the star, like a touchstone. “I know.”  
  


-  
  
  
The time they sit there seems immeasurable, but Loretta supposes it isn’t very long; she has a chance to dry her tears before Thompson pushes the door open, slowly, and ushers her children inside. Her daughter climbs into her lap, perhaps sensing her mother’s grief. Her son reaches out and places a small hand gently on Loretta’s knee.  
  
“It’s okay Mama,” he says quietly. “We can have dinner, just the three of us. It’ll be just fine, you’ll see.”  
  
Wordlessly, Peggy slips the medal from Loretta’s hand, and she places it back into the box as Loretta pulls her children close to her and buries her face in her daughter’s hair.  
  
“Thank you,” she says, and though it’s muffled a bit, Thompson and Peggy both smile reassuringly when she glances up with red-rimmed eyes.  
  
Thompson reaches out and pats her son’s head. “Let me know if you need anything,” he says quietly, and Loretta nods once in acknowledgment.  
  
When Loretta walks them to the door, Thompson goes straight to the car, while Peggy lingers. She leans in and grasps Loretta’s wrist.  
  
“If you allow it to, the guilt will swallow you whole. Please, Loretta. Allow Roger the dignity of his choice.”  
  
With those words, she too is gone.  
  
Loretta stands at the door for a while after the agents have departed, until there is the sudden sound of crashing pots and pans, startling her out of her reverie.  
  
“Mama,” her son says, tugging on the back of her skirt. “Don’t be sad! I’ll help with dinner tonight.”  
  
From the kitchen comes a shout from her daughter: “Me too! Me too!”  
  
And through the sorrow that fills her like a scalding stream, Loretta feels the first glimmer of reprieve.

**Author's Note:**

> So the idea I was going for here is that for his sacrifice, Dooley receives the Medal of Honor. I know it's normally awarded by the President of the United States, but since Dooley worked for a secret organization, they couldn't really reveal the circumstances of his death to the public. Thompson and Carter volunteer to do it.
> 
> you can find me on tumblr at captaintwerkmerica
> 
> :)


End file.
